


Even the Darkest Heart

by farad



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:12:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/pseuds/farad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the fic_promptly prompt - which was, darn it, my own: Magnificent Seven, Chris, OW, sometimes the darkness he saw in the others was a comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even the Darkest Heart

Buck had been the first. Just after he'd left Ella, running with a fear he'd never known before, not sure of exactly what he was afraid of, but knowing he had to get away. He'd come up on this town, miles away from where he'd snuck away from her, in the middle of the night. It was the eve of the next night, the sun falling into the long tan plane of the desert, when he'd pulled his horse to a stop at the first tavern he'd come to. 

The long, rangy man stretched out in a rocker in front of the place had eyed him as he'd tied up, and Chris had touched the butt of his revolver more than once. But as he stepped up onto the long plank porch going into the place, the man had nodded to him. "Look like you're on the run," he'd said, point blank. 

Chris stared at him, only then noticing the star on his lapel. "Reckon I am," he'd answered with a nod. "But not from the likes of you."

The man had studied him for a time, then he'd smiled, his teeth bright against the tan of his face and the shadow of his thick mustache. "Then it'd have to be from some woman," he said. "She got a reason to be angry?"

Chris knew what he was asking, but he also knew he was in the clear on this. "She ain't in a family way – least, not as far as I know. She's just . . . " He stopped, drawing a breath and looking out into the falling night as he struggled for the words. "Reckon that being with her was like walking on the edge of a knife. Knew I was going to bleed eventually, figured it was best to leave before it happened."

The other man's grin widened, and Chris realized that the first one had been a fake. This one was the real one. This one was the man himself. 

"Reckon I know that," he said, pushing himself up. "Come on in, let me introduce you to the bartender. We don't always welcome strangers here."

Chris nodded, feeling a sudden lightness he hadn't felt in a while. Feeling the dark being kept at bay. 

*&*&*&*&*

Dark eyes caught his, the plea clear in them even if it weren't in the words spilling out of the man's mouth. Dark eyes, dark skin – dark thoughts. Chris didn't have much doubt about it as he held the gaze of the man these rough rider were about the lynch, the man they accused of killing their leader. 

The dark eyes held secrets, Chris could tell that, the secrets of a man who had done things he wasn't proud of. 

But they were, he knew, the secrets of man who had been a slave.

He sighed. He didn't want this fight, he didn't need to be involved. There was no way for him to know if the rough riders weren't right – hell, black men weren't doctors, it just wasn't the way it was. 

But something in those dark eyes told him that this man wasn't guilty – not of this, at least. He might be guilty of many thing, and Chris had no doubt but that hating white men, most white men, leastways, was among them. 

But that didn't mean that what was happening here was right. 

He wanted to walk away – he even started to. It wasn't his fight, he had other, more important fight to take on. 

But then he looked up and found a second set of eyes. These were blue – blue and younger, but set in a face as worn and angry as that of the black man. Another set of eyes that told of trials and a hard life – and an anger and hatred of injustice. 

Fire. 

Before he knew it, he was walking down the street, strangely comfortable in the company of this man, and later, comfortable in the challenging wrath of the other. 

&*&*&*&*

"Why, that would barely cover the cost of my bullets." The gambler intended to sound indignant, but Chris saw the glint in his green eyes, a glint that some might think was gold, perhaps a reflection from his shiny tooth. But Chris knew better. It was the glint of greed, at the thought of the money. It wasn't much money, not for this man, but it was more than nothing, and it was a justification for him to leave – to retreat, without losing face. Well, not too much. 

When he declared the meeting place and the time, the other man had laughed and then danced his way out, a delightful series of twists and turns and hand movements that had made Chris smile all the more. The gambler would be there, his green eyes sparking with fire. A fire that came with the danger and the challenge, and the call of possible wealth. There was a comfort in that, in knowing what he could expect from this man. No knight in shining armor that would take risks that would endanger them all. No, this man was predictable, a sure thing. And there was a comfort in that. 

*&*&*&*&

"Crows." Chris looked away as he listened, smiling to himself. Beside him, he felt Vin's horse shift, mirroring the discomfort of his rider. On the other side, he heard Buck snort in disbelief. 

As Nathan reassured Josiah, drawing him in, Chris nodded. He didn't believe in signs of death, not like this Josiah, and probably not like Vin, who hadn't struck him as superstitous but who seemed a little restless with all this talk of birds. But despite this preacher-man's talk, there was a steadiness to him that Chris understood – more, that he shared. This man knew death, and wasn't afraid of it. He didn't want it, but he wasn't afraid of it. 

Chris nodded as he led the way, knowing this man, Josiah, was with them. 

None of these men were innocents, none of them expected anything out of this but the money they had been promised from the start. He wasn't so stupid as to believe they didn't expect something out of it, but for most of them, himself included, he thought it was some small piece of their own souls. 

For some hope that in the end, they might have some small goodness to offset the other other debts against them. And that if they died here, in the doing of this good thing, that offset might be higher. 

It was a strange comfort, to know these men – not their histories or their habit or their plans, but here, in the truth of who they were: like him, men with dark hearts and good intentions.


End file.
